


Parallel

by twistmyleg



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BUT ALSO FOR ALFYN, Flashbacks, M/M, Matter of Life and Death, Suicide Attempt, We all need hugs, also Tressa is my pumpkin, and cyrus?, and everyone really?, have I mentioned tressa is my pumpkin?, my heart is sad for Therion, save these poor souls please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 03:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17573147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistmyleg/pseuds/twistmyleg
Summary: He took the chance that he could escape everything. That they would not care, and that he would erase the mistake in their lives. But his medicines and unending kindness refused to let him. And he did not know why.*Spoilers for Alfyn's Chapter 3 and 4, Therion's Chapter 3, and possible other chapters for the others (nothing major major for them, though)*





	Parallel

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a dose of sadness and screaming with Tressa being Tressa. Enjoy! :)

It was a daunting distance from the top of the crags to wherever the bottom was.

But it was nothing new to him.

Orewell’s somber sunrise greeted Therion for perhaps the final time as he stood where a desperate merchant had just hours before. Spitting out the same things that he himself was thinking simultaneously. But there was a difference in their line of thinking. The merchant was saved thanks to a mysterious vegetable able to profitize in the daunting city Therion wished to avoid. What was going to save him, if he dared? Certainly not a questionable vegetable. Nothing would, really. He had asked himself this question countless times with each step to the edge. The answer was always the same.

His eyes glanced behind him for a moment. The roof of the inn across town was lit in a brazen red hue, matching the boulders around them. No doubt the others were beginning to rise by now. Cyrus would be prattling about an enigmatic dream regarding his search for the demonic tome. Tressa would be making a game plan to make a profit in this quiet settlement. H’aanit would be feeding Linde and preparing her bow for a new hunt. Ophilia would be leading a morning prayer and monitoring the flame. Olberic would be training, again. Primrose would be staring at her dagger as she had been for weeks on end. And Alfyn…

 _They’ll be fine. They were before you walked in and demanded that you could help them, gods be damned. They’ll be fine afterward as well. Stay focused._ Therion turned back to the edge. It was parallel to the very same one he had been forcefully shoved off of on that day. There was rubble floating from its edges with the tepid winds downward toward a new destination. The sun glowed around his presumed destination, as if a gate beckoning him to come forward and enter. He took a deep breath. Orewell did not have the same air of sweat and blood that the other location had. There was no pain to be felt either. But it would soon. Therion knew this for sure. Orewell was about to have a rude awakening.

He tested the waters, dangling a foot over the edge. Part of his balance was immediately lost to him, but it created a surge of adrenaline within him. Sweat formed at his hairline and other areas. His eyes -- well, eye -- could only glance downward. He had to wonder if he would lose his remaining one here as well. He had lost the first one in a similar situation. Maybe one of the sharp ruts would tear it free from its socket and send it flying into the ravine. Or maybe it would be impaled immediately. The possibilities were endless. Perhaps that was the cause for adrenaline?

He closed his eyes. _What are you waiting for, you idiot? There’s nothing left to be said. Nothing left to do. You’ve already left them. They are not coming for you. Stop stalling and end this._ But what about Heathco _te and Lady Cordelia? Certainly they, of all people, would come for him in order to send him off to Northreach. They just want their damn stones back. They put you in such a fool’s position to begin with. Why would they give a damn if you never go to Northreach? Heathcote’s likely to get them back himself there, anyway. They wouldn’t understanding this, anyhow._ Maybe Olberic, of all of them? He was a father figure to everyone in the group, providing them with advice and tales to bring up morale. _He’s with his own issues. He still has to go to Riverford and end that tyrant’s reign._ Maybe Cyrus? Curiosity was always a fickle one with him. _Too busy in his books to notice. He’s to be in Duskbarrow soon, anyhow._ Alfyn?

Therion closed his eyes and leaned forward. It was enough to send his entire body over the precipice and downward toward an unknown destination; wherever Aeber deem he be after this was over. The breeze was now fierce against him as he fell, attempting to catch him where a pair of hands or other elements would be in place. It was a cooling sensation. _No. I cannot possibly expect that medicine man to even wink at me anymore. Not after Wellspring. Not after Saintsbridge. And certainly not with the oogie boogie Ogen keeping him distracted at all hours of the day. He’s too busy with those that are nicer to him. I’m nothing more than a stone in the way. Waiting to be kicked off a precipice like this one. I’ve failed them. I’ve failed him most of all._ But what about all of the smiles that he passed his way? Every attempt to heal his wounds alongside a prattle of conversation and mead to keep them going for hours? _Nothing but a farce to put up with me. It’s in his nature. None of them would give a damn. Him most of all. I’m convinced._

He did not want to open his eyes anymore as he fell. He knew that the longer he was in this suspended state, the more likely that Aeber would send him below for his sins. If he opened them, would his instincts kick in to find an edge to hold onto? Most likely. It was the instinct to survive. Instead, Therion focused on the smile that came from the apothecary at all hours of the day. It was imprinted into his mind ever since they had met on the rivers of Clearbrook. It was optimistic about their chances of winning every battle. It was determined to heal all people, no matter their circumstance or wealth. It was gentle as the river. It was everything Therion had shut out in his life. He did not know why it came to mind now as he fell, beginning to hear a sharp noise in his ear signalling an end to his fall. But it was all he could see.

It was the smile he could have had. But there was no going back once a foot was already over the edge. The sharp noise became overbearingly loud in Therion’s ear. It blocked out everything else, including physical notions of his body and mind. It destroyed the landscape around him and any notion of the world he had been holding onto until this moment. It disrupted the picture of his smile in his mind, shattering it into millions of irreparable pieces. It was ubiquitous. It was consuming. It was the signal of the end.

* * *

But he had failed, hadn’t he?

 _Aeber won’t even let me just end it all, will he? Damn him._ Therion only knew this through the muttering over his head between numerous different people and the agonizing pain that gave him sensation as he regained consciousness in an unknown location. The pain was enough to knock him out again, if it so desired. Therion struggled to maintain consciousness as he laid there, and there was even more trouble in trying to listen to the conversation that was occurring above him. Only the snarl of a eccentric snow leopard gave any indication as to who was participating.

“Olberic, thou shoulde taketh a breath.” _Shouldn’t she be feeding Linde at the inn? What purpose does she have to be out here, of all places?_ “Therest hope until otherwise proven.”

“A little impossible to do right now, H’aanit.” _And he should be training somewhere in town. Unless…_ “Just help me find a sign of life on him. Anything at all. That’s your proof, no?” _Intriguing that he’s so frenetic right now. Didn’t think he had it in him._ “Check for a pulse, a breath; anything that we can give to Alfyn or Cyrus as a positive sign.” Fingers began to probe his neck and wrists, if they could be called that anymore. Therion could not even locate them in conjunction to his body. Every time his mind faded out, the fingers were in a new location unbeknownst to him. There was a patch of fur somewhere at his side and a low growl.

“Do you senseth something, girl?” A roar of approval came from the beast, followed by a grunt of approval from its master. His mind faded out again. This time upon returning, his body was now draped over something fuzzy and alive. “Linde, runneth to Alfyn. Drop thy note at his feet. We’ll be quicketh behind.” The beast growled under him. The breeze, just as fierce as before, whipped at every part of his body as it ran toward the unknown. But on what parts, Therion could not decipher. For all he knew, the wind could be blowing up his hair and revealing the very reason he had taken his chances to begin with. Who knew if he was even strapped to the beast?

His mind faded out again, but it held onto one specific name. _Great. If Aeber won’t let me finish the job, he’s letting the medicine man unleash his wrath upon me. I don’t know which is worse._ When his mind returned, the beast was still running. Paced footsteps beside him -- there seemed to be an extra pair with Olberic’s heavy clompers and H’aanit’s paced footing -- indicated life surrounding him at all sides. The new pair of footsteps were rushed yet light. The medicine man has not found out yet. But they are the next worse thing.

“Where was he?” came the syrupy calm voice of Primrose beside him. _She should be brooding. Or dancing. Or anywhere but here. What gives, Aeber? Why now?_

“Remember where that merchant proclaimeth his demise?”

“The one we gave the weird vegetable to? Screaming he could make a profit off of it?” A grunt of approval from somewhere distorted in the distance. His condition was deteriorating, and it only brought a sense of peace to Therion. _Maybe Aeber will grant me this last request. Maybe they won’t make it in time._ “But that’s at the top of…”

“The precipice we saw him falling off of,” Olberic finished. His voice was softer than it normally was. He only spoke in that tone when it came to something related to Hornburg and the betrayals of his past. It was the unveiling of a broken man within him, and Therion could not understand why it danced about him now. A gasp shattered the calm beside him.

“That a monster, or some bastard pushed him off of?” His mind faded and returned quickly, but it seemed there was nothing to miss. Silence reigned between the three of them. The beast’s pace had begun to slow beneath him. “You’re not about to tell me that…”

“We won’t knoweth lest he say a word,” H’aanit sighed. “But it appeareth thy case.” His mind faded again; this time struggling to return to reality. There was noise and movement, but of who they were and what they were doing Therion could not discern. His name may have been shouted a few times by some lighter voices. Maybe he was shaken by dainty hands seeking answers from his corpse. Maybe he was prodded and poked at until there was nothing to be said that would enhance their understanding. Therion did not know. While the unknown was a frightful thing, it was calming in what he hoped was his final moment.

The final time his mind returned to reality was a quick one. The hushed voices had all but disappeared. No, wait, they were there. But they were distant; unimportant to the moment. He could not feel his body anymore, no matter who pryed at it and attempted to solve the million leaf question. There was nothing left to be said. His mind faded for the final time, ready to take him wherever Aeber deemed worthy of him. But there was one voice that pierced the distortion. He could recognize it without the terrible smelling concoctions he always had at the bedside. It was normally filled with optimism and kindness that he shrugged off. But it was different now.

“Theri...Therion…?”

* * *

_“What’s with those pitiful menaces?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“So cold and guarded...Distrusting and wary.” There was a cynical smile on the man’s face in front of him. It jeered at him, knowing it had won. It had everything that Therion desired: the emerald dragonstone, and his trust. He had no power to answer the tyrant in front of him, but he did so anyway to the best of his ability. There were eyes on him on all sides._

_“What does it matter?” A noise of intrigue. The man strided over to him confidently yet daunting. He had all of the power, and Therion had just given him more reason to continue rather than end this again._

_“Does my betrayal still haunt you?”_

_And suddenly they were not in the Black Market in Wellspring anymore. They were back on the edges of Quarrycrest, standing high above any hope of safety. There was nowhere to run around. There was nothing to catch him at the bottom of the precipice he knew he was on. They were in the same positions as before; the man stood with his daunting red locks and cape blowing to the fierce breeze of his victory. He was so small against him, although standing and able. The figure was all-consuming of his sight and mind. Therion closed his eyes to try and rid the figure, but he already knew the answer in his heart as another jeering laugh rang in echoes._

_“You haven’t changed a bit. For a top-notch tea leaf, you’re still pathetically sentimental.” But what sentimentality was there to hold when he had already lost everything good in his life? Therion opened his eyes. The man was farther away from him now, and his feet were now no more than an inch from falling off of the unstable rock below._

_“Enough talk, Darius.” A jeer. A killer smile. More distance between them._

_“I remember you having wittier comebacks, mate.” The rocks cracked beneath him, and there he was again swimming upwards toward anything. Darius walked away; the conversation between him and the other man was insignificant. The distance was growing, Therion was falling, and gods be damned it was happening all over again. Therion glanced down. Last time, there was a ravine that Aeber had blessed him with to keep him alive, or so Aeber could think to himself. Now, there was nothing. An endless cycle of misery and psychological torture awaited him._

_Still, he called out. It was the sentimentality in him that remained. But it was not for Darius. “Professor! Olberic!” If the warrior could only throw one of them across the ravine and perhaps Cyrus could blast him to the other side; to safe ground. “Ophilia?! Tressa!” Her light could guide him toward a safe destination, or Tressa’s wind magic could jet him back to the top of the precipice. “H’aanit!” That snow leopard could jump a distance longer than a river, right? “Primrose?!” And her jumps alone were lengthy. Her evasive maneuvers could save them both. He closed his eyes. The bottomless pit approached faster._

_“Alfyn?! Alfyn!” He did not know what he could even do. Maybe catch him as he had always done in every battle Therion had failed to play safe in. Those big arms were for something, right? Not just for medicine? And even then, his warmth and smile could levitate him over into those arms, should his distance be too far. He was an enigma; he could always fix the problem. But it did not matter anymore. None of them were here, and they never would be. They were better off without his troubles; without his grumbles and moodiness. They had greater plans for them; Therion should never have been spared by that ravine. He was the odd one out. It was no wonder…_

_“...they betrayed me too.” And then there was nothing._

* * *

_Why did Aeber spare me again?_

Therion knew that he had not been granted his final wish with the immediate onslaught of pain from everywhere. He could recognize it in his arms and legs, trailing over his stomach and even more so on his neck and face. There was a heaviness that laid over them as well, preventing him from having the desire to move. It was likely a concoction or a bandage, but it was also a heavy quilt. The fabric was as rough as Orewell’s boulders, but it bound a sense of life to Therion.

His one eye opened and glanced around. It was dark save for a lantern in the corner of the room. With the lamp was a familiar brunette that sat at a desk piled high with different tomes and what nots. He seemed intent at his task, tracing his quill over the paper numerous times at rhythm with his clucking tongue. But there was something different about his appearance. The professor loved to show his most professional attire to the group, but the outfit appeared pieced together and mismatched. His hair was in a frenzy about it, and his eyes were strained at the paper. He appeared more pale than his complexion granted him. _The professor’s never like this. And I’ve seen moments where it could force this appearance upon him_. Therion exhaled, which was enough to catch the man’s attention. His eyes flashed to Therion instantly and flooded with relief.

“By the Flame, Therion, you’re back with us!” He stood from his chair and closed the distance between them. Therion let out a weak chuckle.

“You look even worse than from a distance, Professor. Did you finally trip over something uncalculated?” The next slur of comebacks would not come out of Therion’s throat. It was parched; deficient of life. Cyrus shook his head.

“Taunt me all you will, but that does not disqualify you are in need of assistance and I am the one giving it to you.” He took up a pitcher of water from his bedside and poured the liquid of life into a small cup. Cyrus placed the cup at his lips. “Drink up. Your arms are too broken to move them, just so you know.” Therion knew it was a losing battle if he even dared. Either his arms would give out or Cyrus’ frail strength would win against him. He took a sip from the cup and sighed with content.

“What time is it?” Cyrus glanced out of the sole window of the room next to the desk.

“About midnight or so, I’d say. I lost track a while ago.”

“So that’s why you’re my guard. You’ve studying to complete.” He nodded with a bit of twinkle in his eye.

“If I don’t finish translating these tomes before we arrive in Duskbarrow, I’ll be behind on my quest to the truth. And besides, Olberic, H’aanit, and Primrose cornered Alfyn into taking a nap after all of the time that he has spent in here at your bedside.” _But...why?_ Therion was silent for a moment as Cyrus fiddled with the quill in his hands. He appeared to be at a loss for words. Suppose it was better now than with Alfyn to fetch some of the answers to Therion’s developing questions; the million leaf one being how he was still among them.

“How long was I out?” Cyrus hummed.

“A week. This is the eighth night.” _I had a chance, at least. Aeber gave me a chance._

“Where did they find me?”

“Olberic and H’aanit watched you fall. They found you hundreds of feet down by the edge of another precipice. It was well outside the bounds of Orewell.”

“And they brought me back here?”

“As quick as Linde could run. Thank the Flame that H’aanit trained her well.” Therion closed his eye. _Not much thanks now, Cyrus. Linde whisked away my chance of freedom._

“What did I look like? How bad are these injuries?”

“I don’t think that’s something I should be describing to you.”

“But I want my curiosity to be satiated, Professor. You, of all people, should know that feeling best.” Therion did his best to give an appealing look, but it was straining him to keep his eye open for so long. Cyrus sighed with a mix of frustration and defeat.

“...You were unrecognizable.” Therion’s lips closed as Cyrus’ pace increased. “Most of your bones were all but shattered and the amount of blood that spilled from your head and stomach was like the waterfalls of Clearbrook. Your hair…let’s just say it’s no longer a pure white.” _Oh joy. Not only was I saved, but now I look ridiculous._ “Your eye was closed and you didn’t respond to any cues that we gave you. The only sign of life you had was a faint pulse buried deep within your veins.” _What that damn snow leopard probably sensed._

“I was going to die, right?”

“Most certainly. There was little hope for you.”

“But I’m not.” It came out more frustrated than it should have, catching Cyrus off guard and forcing a surprised glance upon his face. “Tell me. What exactly brought me back to life? I’m ever so curious to know what magical powers were used to bring out that pulse.” Cyrus cleared his throat.

“...Alfyn worked tirelessly to heal you. He did everything he could within his power and knowledge. He sent letters to the most esteemed apothecaries across Orsterra for advice. He mended bones, stitched up wounds, cleaned blood, crafted new and exquisite concoctions; he did everything for you. It was not a simple potion or grape, but rather day after day of trial and error. There were times that you were so close to leaving us. It was not until the fifth night that your life was secure again.” _You had five days, Aeber. And you failed. Let that Dohter guy spank the medicine man into action._ Yet there was a part of him that was -- gods be damned -- relieved that Aflyn had placed that much effort into his hopeless body. For what reason, he did not know. “You sound as if you did not want that.”

“What do the others think happened? What do they think landed me in this state?” Cyrus’ eyes darkened, obscuring the twinkle in his eye.

“They all know that you took the plunge, Therion. Olberic and H’aanit are not ones to be soft with words.” _If they knew I wanted to die so much, then…_ “But they did not want to give up on you, even if you seemed to give up on yourself.” Therion closed his eye. He could not move; could not run away from the truth Cyrus provided. He only had his unstable mind to run to.

“I highly doubt that.” A scoff from the professor.

“Really? Then what explains Alfyn’s unbending dedication to making sure you would even open your eye again? What explains the distances Olberic and H’aanit crossed to deliver those letters and return with exotic medicines from across the known continent? What explains Ophilia and my constant efforts to aid Alfyn in this endeavor? What explains Tressa’s bargaining for items that would bring you happiness when you woke? And Primrose’s extra dancing for money and comfort? And---”

“They do it because they _had_ to.” Cyrus’ breathing had become laced with anger. It was amusing to the extent that it was also terrifying. He rarely became angry.

“Then you clearly misunderstand what friends are willing to do for each other,” he spoke in a low voice. “They want to help you, Therion. They may not understand what happened or why it did, but gods be damned they are doing their best for you. They want to see you happy.”

“They don’t understand what I want, if they really were friends with me.” Therion was about to speak again -- perhaps even lash out and prove the professor wrong -- but a sharp pain from his head transformed his words into a scream. It was unbearable. It felt as if his head had been split open by Darius’ dagger, or the ruts below. He gained the notion that the pain was not supposed to be there when he heard Cyrus’ robes flutter heavily and a pair of hands on his shoulders.

“Therion?! What’s wrong?!” He paused and inhaled sharply. “Gods, it's everywhere--Ophilia!” Therion could barely hear the door open and gentle footsteps enter the room.

“What happened?! I thought Alfyn had patched that area up!”

“The stitching came loose! It must have been a sloppy job on his end, but can we blame him? Get some of the cloths in the corner!” He heard Cyrus begin to mutter underneath his breath, but it was fading fast. “Alfyn...worked….too much over....Flame protect him.” Another pair of footsteps entered the room just as lightly as Ophilia’s had. There was a scream associated with them as a cloth slipped underneath his head. He heard Cyrus curse under his breath before turning a different direction. “Tressa, I need you to calm down for me, alright?”

“How?! He’s bleeding out worse than before! Professor, we just got him back! How are we--” A sob interrupted her message. Cyrus sighed with a mixture of millions of thoughts and emotions. But Therion could no longer recognize them. His body became unrecognizable to him again as fingers began to prod somewhere for the source of the blood.

“Ophilia, keep holding onto those cloths. Give me one minute.”

“Of course.” He heard Cyrus’ distinct steps stop in front of something and his robes move with his body to the floor.

“Tressa, I need you to take a deep breath. We are doing the best we can under circumstances. We will save him, my dear. I promise you. Come on now, take a deep breath.” Therion’s mind began to fade again as another cloth was placed underneath him. “Good. Now, I want you to wake Alfyn and bring him here, okay? Can you do this?”

“O-of course! Just...don’t let him die, hear?!” Her footsteps could barely be heard exiting the room. Meanwhile, Ophilia’s breathing had become ragged above him. It was the only sensation that he could feel anymore.

“Cyrus, the bleeding will not stop, no matter how many cloths I place under the cut. Our magic is useless against this much..” Cyrus’ hands placed weight upon his body, but on where he could not be sure.

“Therion, I need you to stay with me, alright? Give me a sign you’re still with us.” Therion could not move a muscle nor make a sound. All he could do was exhale. It was enough to garner a sigh of relief from Cyrus. “Okay, good. You’re still with us. Therion, a part of your stitching came undone from the back of your head. You may pass out for a while, but we’re going to bring you back, I swear.” His hands patted him in affirmation. “You may not believe in yourself to have a life worth living. You may not believe that we should even be trying to save you. But believe it or not, Therion, we are your friends. We will save you, no matter how many times you try. You may want to die, but I know that you want something more. And if you stay with us, we’ll give it to you.” _How…? I’m not worth saving…_

“Is...that what this is about?” Ophilia questioned.

“I don’t know, but it’s my best deduction. It’s what I got from my brief conversation with him.” Ophilia’s breath formed mumbling words above him in prayer.

“Aelfric, bringer of the Flame. May your warm light bless your follower and give him the strength to live once more. May your light reignite every organ in his body and bless him with good fortune and happiness. And if it shall not…” She took a shaky breath. “And if it shall not, may your light guide him to where he will find it.” _Don’t pray for me. Go about your Kindling without me._ Her hands had picked up a part of his body. The light footsteps returned.

“He’s on his way! I brought some antiseptics and more cloths to keep cleaning the wound!” Her footsteps stopped in front of him. “You hear that, Therion? We won’t let you die so easily! Not if your rival Tressa has a word in the matter!” _Don’t call me that. Please, stop…_ Familiar footsteps entered the room and immediately his body was clutched up in something secure and warm, even if his mind could not distinctly recognize where it was. “And Alfyn will make sure of that too! Right, Alf?”

“Of course, Tress. Hand me the concoctions ya brought.” Something thumped somewhere. The voice was tired -- almost defeated -- but still optimistic. _Why? Even after how I’ve treated you. Even after what I’ve done to make you stop caring, why do you keep coming back to save me? Is it Dohter’s doing?_ “Is he awake?”

“I was talking to him a short time ago before this happened,” Cyrus responded. “He gave some sign of life earlier, but I do not know about now. You’re more than welcome to try and talk to him.” A part of him was tilted, liquid was poured around him somewhere, and a warm breath was the last thing he could sense before his mind faded once more.

“Therion, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere. Just...stay with me.”

* * *

_It was just like in Saintsbridge._

_There the maniacal thief stood in front of the four of them, cackling and giving them every reason to be downtrodden. A thief that happened to be well versed in fighting threatening to murder a child if they did not comply. It was hard to do that, however, when Olberic had a lance readied at his heart and Cyrus was already muttering fire incantations under his breath. Alfyn’s axe was already swinging and urging to bring Miguel Twinspears to justice. Therion should have been like them. But he knew the situation all too well. He could not put as much fervor into his dagger and sword as the others. But maybe that was the reason he decided to step between them._

_If Therion had to give the bastard credit for anything, he could be a convincing actor. Similar to that Simeon man from Noblecourt, he knew how to toy with someone’s emotions and make them feel awful about themselves. Stating that he would stop his thieving ways to Alfyn’s face, only to start it up again and almost murder a kid in cold blood became a moral dilemma for the apothecary, and the other men could sense it. Rather than heading to the local alehouse and calling up mugs for celebration, he called up mugs in frustration. His attitude was more tense. Fixing wounds became sloppier for him; Therion had to steal twice the normal ingredients to make up for his mistakes. Maybe they could blame oogie boogie Ogen for being a downer on his parade, but Therion also placed blame upon himself. As a thief, he had the notion that this would happen. Maybe Alfyn would not trust Ogen, but if he had spoken to him...perhaps it could have ended differently. Miguel continued to spit out Alfyn’s mistakes with each daunting swing of the lance he could. He jeered, taunted, feigned defeat; it was a ruthless cycle._

_Both sides were on their last legs. Miguel was almost down for good, and not feigning his injuries as he had before. He was leaning on his remaining spear; Therion had managed to knock away one of the spears in an earlier clash between them. But they were almost gone as well. Cyrus had been knocked out long ago; Alfyn had not the time to heal him up with the vicious attacks becoming a never ending cycle. Olberic -- stalwart as he was -- was barely hanging on with his sword. Alfyn had not moved in how long now? Therion could barely stand; most of his daggers were used and his sword had chipped against one of the spears._

_Miguel aimed one last scatter attack at them; Olberic took the cover for Cyrus’ body so as to prevent further harm and bolstered his defenses as he did so. Therion prepared to dodge them -- this was the easy part -- but noticed soon how Miguel began to move quickly toward the one man that had not bothered to move. Alfyn’s optimism had fizzled out slowly throughout the battle, leaving him languid and in a state of hopelessness. If he did not move, he was a dead man. For just a moment, Miguel’s red hair appeared longer to him, and his eyes were more menacing and greedy. It was the same situation. Except Alfyn was on that cliff instead of him. Therion made a split second decision and, using what little energy he had remaining, bolted in front of the apothecary._

_“Therion?!” Olberic’s booming voice echoed in his mind as the spear struck him somewhere in his side. It was painful, but nothing that was new or extraordinary. He felt blood draining from his body onto the woodland floor below them. His eyes flickered between his wound, Miguel, and Alfyn, whose head had jolted upward and eyes widened with surprise. Miguel jerked back with the lance in hand, taking Therion with him._

_“You?! Get off, ya little tea leaf!” Therion’s hands moved to the spearhead that burst forth from him and held it firmly. If he could prevent the weapon from being used again, then there would be one less Darius in the world. He did not know why he was even trying to hold him off; Miguel had more muscle than him and could easily slice his hands open. He should not even be holding this much regard for the entire situation. But something clicked within him. It was too late to go back now. Just like it had been then. He eyed Miguel and held his final dagger in his hand. A form of a smile blessed his face._

_“‘Fraid not, ginger leaf. We’ve better lives to deal with than you.” His eyes darkened and he lifted his dagger. “Time to steal the show…” Aeber’s power flowed from the dagger and knocked Miguel backward with intensity. The lance jutted forward within him and Therion could not help but fall. But not without eyeing Olberic and Alfyn, staring bewildered at him in fear. “Now! Kill that bastard!” Olberic did not need another reminder. One swing of a Brand’s Thunder later and Miguel was a dead lump on the ground. As was Therion as he land ever so ungracefully on the bloodied grass before him. Olberic recovered the child as Cyrus began to rise from his spot on the ground. Olberic had slipped him an Olive of Life during the brief encounter. He glanced around with curiosity as he gathered his scattered tomes together. And Alfyn…_

_“Therion, what in hells and tarnations were ya thinkin’?!” he screamed as he lifted his limp body, inspecting how deep the lance had impaled him. Since Therion had tugged at it so much, it was embedded deeper than Therion had initially thought. “Throwin’ yourself like that is reckless and ya know it!” Therion could not help but laugh. It was hilarious to see Alfyn so distraught over something that he did; perhaps it was also the delirium from losing blood._

_“You’re complaining that I just saved your ass? How rich.”_

_“Therion, ya shouldn't've--”_

_“And I did. No going back over it now, right?” He coughed violently. There was more blood escaping to the floor. “Look, I don’t know why I did it, so stop tirading me. Do your job, medicine man.” Therion paused for a moment. There was that thought again that had been creeping up on him since he had woken from his estranged state in the Riverlands.“Or, you can let me die like you are Miguel Twinsticks over there. Up to you, if you’re that angry.” Alfyn shook his head._

_“You’re not him, Therion. You’re life is--”_

_“--worth saving? We’re both thieves who’ve messed up good and done things unimaginable to a mind as innocent as yours. I’d say we’re worth the same, honestly. Nothing.”_

_“Stop talkin’ nonsense and converse yer energy.” He began to tug at the spear, sending spirals of pain through Therion; enough to make him groan and clutch at Alfyn’s shoulders; clutch at them for support that Therion longed for but knew he could never keep. By the gods, how did he manage to build so much muscle as an apothecary? Was wielding an axe really all it took? “No matter how many godsdamned times you tell me yer life ain’t worth nothin’, I will save it. You ain’t Miguel. There’s no way in hells you are, and don’t convince me none otherwise.” Their eyes locked. How were his eyes not broken by everything he had just said and heard? It made no sense. “I promise ya that, Therion. Now, hold still. This’ll hurt mighty grand.” He glanced at Olberic in the distance. “Olberic! Hold ‘im down! I’m pullin’ this out!” A firm set of hands landed on his shoulders. Alfyn gave him a smile. “Therion, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere. Just...stay with me.”_

_He had promised him that he would not spout such nonsense again. Therion wanted to have reason to believe his words as the others could. For just a moment in those woods, he could. But Therion had no clue as to what would happen in Wellspring. And there was no way afterward that Therion could feel a reason to keep the promise. The mess he dragged all of them into and the price they paid for it. He let them down. He was nothing to them. Yet he always insisted on saving him. A forceful weight yanked the spear out from within him. Therion jerked, fell back as the spirals of pain overwhelmed him, and faded away into nothingness._

* * *

_Aeber...we need to have a serious talk. You’re a poor listener up there._

Once again, Therion felt an endless amount of pain from where he was situated. It was heavy over him, but nowhere near as bad as before. His eye opened much quicker this time, noting the natural light that came through the window. There were numerous cloths spread over his frame stained with blood and other substances. The smell matched the taste that he had in his mouth: bitter, disgusting, and nauseating. It must have been some elixir used to preserve what little life there was within him. Therion glanced to the side. The desk was no longer covered in piles of tomes and scriptures from the professor, but rather with maps and leaves from various regions of Orsterra. The figure -- no, there were two figures around there -- hummed happily to herself as she stacked up different coins and counted with her finger. Therion was bewildered. Why was she in here?

“Tre...ssa…” His throat was even worse than before. But it was enough to garner the young one’s attention as she glanced at him cheerily.

“Good morning! Glad to see you with us again! Had us scared for a while there!” she whispered, walking over to him with a cup of water in her hand. “Take a sip; it’s got some special herbs Alfyn found around the Forest of Rubeh. Ooh, you wouldn’t believe what we had to fight there! It was so awesome! I wrote it all down in my journal, if you want to read it sometime while you are in here”

 _It tastes awful,_ Therion could not help but think as he took a sip. _But the more bitter the herb, the more potent its effects, I suppose. Must be meant for life-altering cases._ Tressa set the cup to the side as he finished. Flashes of his previous state came in his mind. “What...happened…?” _That night feels so surreal. But Tressa was there too._

“Some stitching came loose from behind your head. Caused a bit of a meltdown, let me tell you. But Alfyn patched it up alrighty again!” Therion attempted to move his arm to feel for the stitching, but his muscles would not budge. “Oh, don’t try to move. Alfyn put something in you that will keep you from moving for a while. He wants to make sure you’ll recover nice and slowly.” Therion groaned and laid back further.

“Just great. Can’t even...go to bathroom…?”

“Oh, you’ve got us for all of that. Don’t fret over it so much.” He glanced beyond Tressa’s frilly yellow attire and behind the desk to where the second figure was. All Therion could see was their feet as they stuck out in a horizontal position. There was a mat on the ground beneath them. Therion could not recognize the figure until there was an abnormally loud snore that rose from them.

“...Alfyn?” Tressa nodded.

“Olberic and Prim had to corner him again to make him sleep. Cyrus joined them this time; you should see his confrontational face! It’s so scary and so awkward! But, Alfyn is one dedicated apothecary, let me tell you! Wish we had someone like him back in Rippletide.” Therion narrowed his eye.

“How...so positive...now?” _Why can’t I even deliver a full sentence properly? This is so embarrassing…_ Tressa seemed to understand what he was getting at, however, and shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to maintain some positivity for the group, is all. Besides, with you alive and well, there's not much reason to worry, no?” Therion shook his head softly and tried to form a smile. But why? Tressa knew what he did. Tressa should be more focused on her stupid contest in Grandport instead. Nothing made sense.

“How...are...they? How long...out?”

“Four more nights since that one. You sure like to sleep when you’re injured, huh? Weird for a thief to be so off guard then!” Therion glared at her, but she continued. “The group’s alright, I guess. Phili’s been real shaken by the whole ordeal; Olberic does his best to comfort her. He’s been training more and more lately though. But both come in and check on you many times during the day. Olberic’s always pacing outside the door in worry! So is Prim at most hours of the day; she’s always making sure that you and Alfyn are fine. Linde and H’aanit come in the early morning and at night. Linde likes to cuddle and give you warmth. It’s so adorable! I took some pictures, if you want to see them sometime.” Therion remained silent. “Me? I’ve been working on some trades while here. The people are a bit gullible, but I’ve found some items that I think you will really like! Cyrus is enraptured with his books again, as always. But he comes in here too, reading you some new detail about the dragonstones or what not. He swears you can hear him from your sleep. I think not, but it’s the Professor’s way of saying that he cares.” His eye closed.

“Alfyn…?”

“Dedicated to your wellbeing. He found the issue with Ogen’s body and remembered the cure to his own illness back when he was younger. Turns out they were one and the same! We went along with Olberic and Cyrus to find and ogre eagle’s feather to cure him with. The battle was so difficult! I got blown away like seventeen times! And there was this rainbow mist that kept sucking out our lifeforce! But we beat it, got some feathers, and brought them back here. Alfyn brewed some up for Ogen and yourself as well. It’s been doing wonders for your complexion!”

“I meant...state...of health…”

“Oh! Well, as you can see…he’s been working really hard. He hasn’t gotten a ton of sleep since Olberic and H’aanit originally found you. Day and night he sits in here mumbling to himself and to you. He reinforces to you how he’s going to save you, no matter who you think you are. Explains everything he is doing to you, tells some jokes occasionally, shares a childhood memory; Phili and I help him often so I know this is what he does. But he also...cries. A lot. When he’s done or when he can’t figure out the solution, he’ll curl up at your bedside and cry. Hold your hand and ask questions that we have all asked. Wonder what he could have done differently for you. Question if it’s his fault. It should be no surprise, but he’s taken this the hardest of them all. He’s been so wrapped up in his head and worried for you that some of his work comes out sloppy. It’s why some of the stitches back there came loose and it’s been taking longer for you to heal up.”

“No...it’s...not…” Therion coughed. _It’s mine. I caused this. And caused the consequences of it afterward._ Alfyn stirred from the corner. Tressa glanced his direction as he sat up. His honey-colored hair was messier than it had ever been, with most of it not bothering to be in his usual knot. His eyes were puffy and laced with fatigue. But he still wore the green vest of life and a form of optimism at his side. He watched as Tressa clucked her tongue and shook her head.

“Alf, go back to sleep. It’s only been an hour, and I don’t want to have Olberic sit on you again!” Alfyn shook his head.

“I heard...is he awake?”

“Yes, but you need to rest. You two have plenty of time to play catch up after you take your nap.” Tressa groaned with defeat as Alfyn stood from his makeshift bed. His green eyes reflected life within them as they met with Therion’s singular one. Tressa stood from his bedside and immediately blocked the distance between them with her dainty finger.

“Alfyn, no! I’ll get Olberic again, I swear! And you don’t want to see him when he’s angry! O-or Prim! Or even Cyrus! Did you see his face today! He’ll pummel you with a tempest of ice, I swear! Stop moving forward and take three steps--”

“...Let him...Tressa.” Tressa’s gasp was obnoxious as she turned on her heel toward him. Her eyes narrowed and she stuck her tongue out.

“You too? Gods, you both are complete morons! I’m getting Olberic! The joke will be on both of you when he’s sitting on top of you and pressing you to sleep! Hmpf!” Tressa stormed out the room quickly, her dainty footsteps echoing into the hall. Her shouts for Olberic could be heard from the room. Alfyn swiftly moved and shut the door behind her before chuckling softly.

“She’s a grand troublemaker. No doubts Olberic’ll be here soon enough.” Alfyn took Tressa’s spot at his bedside and met his eyes once more. What was he thinking in that medicine mind of his? Therion could not tell from a quick glance. “How are ya feelin’?”

“Like...you drugged me…” he responded, attempting to move again. Tressa was right; whatever he had used was effective to keep him in place. “What...is...this?”

“Just a special concoction I made t’keep you down. Always so quick to yer feet an’ not lettin’ yer wounds heal up. That’s how ya end up back in my office.” Therion rolled his eye.

“Great...sit me up...please…” Alfyn obeyed, carefully moving his broken body forward. Ripples of pain spread through him, causing a hissing sound to come from within and for Therion to lean further into Alfyn’s arms. “Not...so quick.”

“It’s as slow as I can get, Therion. My apologies.” They paused there, with Therion panting as if he had just run from being caught. “It’ll be a while ‘fore yer back to yer ol’ self.” Therion closed his eye. It was just like with Cyrus: there was nowhere to run but his unstable mind.

“...It’ll...never happen.” Alfyn was silent for a moment before he took a breath and spoke again. As if he was choosing his words carefully and holding as much as he could back.

“Therion...I heard ‘bout what happened at that precipice. How ya stepped off so willingly with none of us there t’help ya through it. To coax ya off and give ya a big hug. To let ya know everything’s right as rain.”

“Exactly...how it was supposed to be…” The grip around his fragile body tightened. Therion hissed in more pain, but did not bother to shrug it off.

“Apologies?”

“I…” He opened his eye. “I was supposed...to die. No one...was supposed to come. Everything would...have been perfect. But they--they found me and took me to you. I--it would have been fine if I died, right? You all would have gone on your way to your great destinies, and I could stop being in the way. I could stop being the disappointment of the group. So then...why? Why did they take me back? Why did you even bother? Why are all of you bothering?!” Therion was beginning to hate that concoction Aflyn created. He wished he could use it to run away; run back to the precipice again and take the same plunge. After all, his bones and wounds were just freshly bandaged; they would break open easily and with more fervor this time, no? “Why couldn’t you all just let me die?!” Therion hissed louder this time as the grip continued to tighten. He could feel some of his wounds beginning to reopen underneath them. “And keep squeezing, why don’t you? Gets me what I want!”

“Therion, stop!” It was echoing and loud for a city that rose and ended quietly, but it was still Alfyn’s voice. Therion glanced at his green eyes now welled with tears. “Don’t ever ask yerself those questions again, hear?”

“...And why should I? All I’ve said is true, and you damn know it.” Alfyn’s arms moved so as to pull Therion against his chest. Therion could hear his heartbeat through the vest: erratic and confusing. It was so unlike him to be this way; to hold him in this position. It made Therion’s heart start up with as much vigor. “What do you think you’re--?”

“ _We care_ , Therion. You are our good friend; when yer suffering, we are too. Friends help each other in dire circumstances, and I’ll be damned if this ain’t one of them. Yer suffering in a dire circumstance, and we want t’help you through it. We may not understand what goes through that head of yers, but that don’t deter us nonetheless. We’ll see it through with ya to the end.” One of his hands supported the back of Therion’s head, caressing over the stitched area he had fixed. “And when all’s said and done, we’ll still be here with ya. Someone’ll always be there t’catch yer fall.”

“Not for the horrible mistake that I am. You have no idea how much of a screw-up I am. How much shit I give you all that should keep you away from me.”

“Therion, you’re no mistake.”

“Then why was I thrown out?! Why was I left to die?!” He was on the edge of the precipice again, standing in the same position as before. Except there was no one else to coax him forward. No one to save him either. He was alone, bruised and bandaged, with the only way out. “If I was not a mistake, then tell me why I’ve been blinded for the remainder of my days?! Why that damn scar I got from him that day--” Therion whipped his head so that the piece of hair always covering it flipped out of the way, “is a reminder of what I am?! If you have an explanation, I’m just dying to hear it!”

There was an ache behind Therion’s eye, and he cursed the concoction even more now as a bitter stream of tears fell from it in the silence. His eye closed to try and stop them from falling, but it didn’t work that day on the precipice, did it? They still fell -- fell as he had; as he was now -- down his cheeks and trailing onto some of the bandages upon his shoulder. He was falling again off of the precipice in Quarrycrest; in Orewell; in every town that had one toward the same cycle he had always known. The same breeze that was futile in stopping him. In whatever blessing Aeber gave him to start it again. There was always nothing. Nothing in Quarrycrest; nothing in Orewell; nothing in his dream. Nothing ever saved him. It was his price to pay for trusting so devotionally in one person.

 _And yet…_ “You’re no mistake, Therion.” _Even with the scar…_ “I don’t know who in their right mind told and convinced ya that y’were. But damn them for sayin’ so. You are everythin’ right in this world, Therion. You may not believe it, but damn if everyone else doesn’t either. I do. I’ve seen it. I’ve known it.” _Even with the attitude, the failure, and everything else…_ “You attribute that scar to failure? Nah. No more. That scar is your strength. Your compassion and kindness. Your good heart. The everything we--no, that I see in you. The Therion I know; the one I’ll always save no matter what circumstance. Just like Saintsbridge; just like now.” _He’s always there…_

And suddenly, Therion was not falling anymore.

Something unnatural rose in Therion’s throat; so loose and raw that it shook his entire being and stripped him of any rebuttal that he could even come up with. It was scratchy and coarse, but it was pure in its emotion and desperateness. Therion leaned so suddenly into Alfyn’s embrace, needing every bit of him to bring him back to reality. To catch him at the bottom of Quarrycrest, or Orewell, or anywhere he might stumble along the path. He needed him to tell him once more what he was to him; what worth he actually brought into someone’s life. What he appeared to someone else as. The noise was soft at first, but soon released itself in a full out sob as Therion curled closer to the one beacon that made itself known to him time and again throughout their journey.

He was no longer falling. He was in a pair of arms that refused to let him go no matter how much he resisted it. Hell, they even tightened around him just to be safe. He threw himself into a reckless situation because of a magical change of heart; those same arms nursed him back to health and onto his feet again, ready for another day. Darius stood in front of them in an impending battle with a devilish grin and a psychological torture awaiting him. Betrayal written all over his face to scare him off again and back him right into the same corner he had been years, no just days ago. But there was something different. Instead of being alone, there was a pair of arms upon his shoulders; soothing in their embrace. Grassy green eyes meeting his broken, shackled ones. Whispers of affirmations that would patch him up again. Providing him the strength to continue. Providing him life where he did not want it. Encouraging him to take his future with stride and meaning.

Alfyn was life. And here he was imparting that unto Therion.

“Therion, look at me.” Therion could only obey. “Never, ever, let anyone convince ya of that again, hear? You are everythin’ you need to be, Therion. You are everythin’ we could ever want of ya. You are everythin’ I could ever want of ya, and even more so.” Since when have his eyes ever been this radiant? “We don’t expect ya to be perfect; just yerself. It’s all we ask. It’s all I ask.”

“...You could be just like him,” Therion whispered. “Just like Darius. But you’re not...I...it’s...gods, I’m a fool for making you worry so godsdamned much, if at all.” But Alfyn is nothing like him, is he? Certainly not, for there were tears in Alfyn’s eyes to match his own. As if his actions were really a sorrowful thing to behold, but to accept. “I’m sorry, Alfyn. For making you deal with all of this. It must have destroyed you; challenged everything you knew and broke you apart.”

“Don’t apologize none. Just promise me. And promise me you’ll come to us with yer issues. If not any of them, then me. I’ll work them out with ya. I’ll give ya all the hugs in the world. I’ll patch all the holes and make ‘em better. I’ll give ‘em, and you, the love you deserve.” Now Therion was confused. His heart was aflutter with something stranger than anything before and he could not help but choke out a laugh of disbelief.

“Sorry, love? That’s a strange word choice.” Even stranger was the flush of rose that formed on Alfyn’s cheeks. Almost as if that was what he meant to say.

“Sure, love. Nothin’s sweeter than that, right? And yer an apple just waitin’ to have some.”

“Alfyn, in modern language please. We’ve got the Professor for cheesy metaphors.”

“I’m saying you deserve it much as we all do. Even more so, maybe. And I wanna give it t’you.” There was an unfamiliar sensation that rose within Therion’s cheeks: heat, and perhaps the most there since...the beginning of his existence. It was not the heat that came from anger or frustration, but rather embarrassment and emotion.

“And how so, medicine man? I’m a hard one to love.”

“Perhaps like this?” It was soft against his hairline, and maybe a bit chapped. But there was no mistaking Alfyn’s lips upon them. It was a quick moment in time, but it was something. Something that was nothing compared to anything else before. Something unbelievable and wonderful yet so utopian in its creation. It knocked everything out of Therion and brought it all back in. “And then like this.” There it was again, but now on the scar that covered his eye. The same scar Alfyn viewed with optimism and -- what was the word -- love. “And even more so here.” And then Therion could swear he saw Dohter in the background, giving power to Alfyn to love Therion through his lips and rebuild everything broken within him. But it was not just Dohter; it was Alfyn and everything that represented him and life. “Slowly, of course. I know yer one to take time to trust others.” Therion closed his eye and, for the first time in ever, relaxed against his embrace. Soaking it all in. Embracing it. Accepting it.

“Well, if you insist...I’ve never been able to stop you before, no?” He chuckled, bringing himself closer to Therion. Warmth emanated from him as his heartbeat began to even out beside him. It was the beat of life; a life that Therion could embrace with him.

“And I’ll be damned if ya can stop me now.”

* * *

Tressa could not help but frown as she stood outside of the door. She stomped her foot and glanced at the warrior beside her, eyes brimmed with frustration and need to prove her point to the older boys inside. “Well? Are you going to go in and hammer them some justice or no?” To her surprise, he shook his head and straightened himself from the doorway.

“Sorry, Tressa. I think they’ll be fine without me.” She glanced at the others that had gathered by the door, specifically to the elegant woman adorned in red.

“Then how about you, Prim? Surely you would insist he laid down and sleep!” She shook her head as well, a slow smile creeping upon her face.

“Not right now, Tress. Maybe in a while.” She turned to the professor, who was reading a tome next to Primrose. He was studying it with utmost attention and curiosity.

“Surely you would want to do something about it, Professor! You even said it yourself this morning!” To her shock, Cyrus shook his head, but did not say a word in response. “But...but why? He’s disobeying the elders of this group! He needs the rest! As does Therion, who even encouraged Alfyn to come closer! What gives! Do I have to be the adult in this group?” The warrior shook his head and turned his back to the door.

“One day, Tressa, you will understand the power of love. Perhaps when you are older and more experienced.” The warrior took off toward another part of the inn; most likely to train more for his upcoming battles in Riverford. Tressa stomped her foot and gave out a loud mrgrgr in response.

“Sorry, love?! Since when was this about love?! Hey, Olberic! Get back here! You can’t just leave without an explanation! That’s Therion’s job! Hey, wait! Ugh, what is it with you solitary types and silence, anyhow?!”


End file.
